


CODENAME: Atlas

by GoodOmensGoldman



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Trans Male Character, treadmill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26348425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodOmensGoldman/pseuds/GoodOmensGoldman
Summary: Treadmill desk leads to a very different kind of workout. Happy Birthday, you badass.
Kudos: 4





	CODENAME: Atlas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeverellSlytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeverellSlytherin/gifts).



Atlas paused with his hand on the office door. There was an odd electronic humming coming from inside, and given where he was, he had reason to be nervous. He knocked lightly twice and entered. With a sigh of relief, he saw that the humming noise had come from a treadmill with a desk attached. There was a tall elegant man striding briskly on the treadmill. Atlas noted the flex and sway of the lithe, athletic man’s haunches and back as he moved. He cleared his throat, waiting for the man to acknowledge his presence.

“Yes, yes, I know you’ve arrived. You don’t need to make a fuss about it.” the man snapped. “Come in! I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Atlas took a seat in one of the two streamlined modern chairs next to the treadmill. He looked up from underneath his lashes, still fascinated by the movement of the man’s long supple legs, imagining himself clutching those thighs. The man continued to scroll through some images on the iPad in front of him. Atlas assumed they were the same images he’d been sent that morning, images that might change the world. 

After 15 minutes in total silence, Atlas cleared his throat. Mycroft glanced up and over, with one sharply raised eyebrow, then back to the screen in front of him. After another ten minutes, Atlas glanced at his Breitling watch, a gift from an appreciative sub.

“Do you have somewhere more pressing to be?” Mycroft queried, tone icy and silky soft.

“Yes,” Atlas thought. “Fucking the head of MI6.”

He shook his head, mutely. He shifted restlessly in his seat and could feel his vegan leather harness flex against his chest. After his top surgery and months of work on his pecs, he finally had the build he’d been craving, and he liked to display it to best advantage. The harness ran between his legs, holding his packer firmly in place. The Director liked to watch him strip, particularly when he was bound and unable to indulge his urgent desire to run his hands over Atlas’ sculpted body.

“Really, if you have something else you’d rather be doing…”

“Stop pushing me, or I’ll go, and you can find another expert in Norse symbology to help you decode these damn messages!” Atlas snapped.

Mycroft’s mouth fell open. Frequently called the RPM (or Real Prime Minister), he was entirely unused to being spoken to in that tone, and he found it strangely arousing. Atlas’ eyes dropped to the erection forming in his tight shorts, and he felt a surge of confidence. He stepped to the front of the treadmill, and began adjusting the controls. First, he increased the incline just slightly, enough to know that the man’s heart would be working even faster. Then he slid the speed control slightly higher. Mycroft’s eyes dropped to the panel in front of him, and a few beads of sweat appeared on his upper lip. Atlas smiled, a lupine grin. His hand slowly brushed down the front of Mycroft’s shirt, enjoying the muscles rippling underneath his touch. When he reached the waistband of his shorts, his eyes flicked up to catch a quick intake of breath and a nod. He slowly stroked the semi-erect cock tenting the man’s shorts. Mycroft’s eyes closed and he shuddered. Atlas stepped back. “Off” he said. “I want it all off.”

Mycroft’s eyes snapped open. He raised his head to speak, but after a glimpse of Atlas’ expression, his words stuttered to a stop. Mycroft began to raise his hand to slow the machine, and Atlas gave one small brief head shake of denial. Mycroft reached for the hem of his shirt and slowly pulled it over his head, still maintaining his pace on the treadmill. Atlas’ eyes raked over his slim muscular chest, shoulders and pecs moving in time with the rhythm of the treadmill. He glanced down at Mycroft’s shorts and then up at his face with a suggestive smile. He strode to the controls and hit pause. “You have 20 seconds.”

Mycroft pulled his shorts off swiftly. Atlas grinned and returned the machine to its former speed. He slowly circled the treadmill, enjoying the sight of the man’s taut body moving and flexing from all angles. After a few moments, he shook his head, remembering he had work to do here. Atlas stepped to the side of the machine, and placed his hand flat on the taut muscular belly in front of him. He gently stroked the man’s body, enjoying the feel of Mycroft trembling to his touch. His hand slid up to Mycroft’s chest. He teased first one rosy nipple, then the other. When both were tautly erect, he indulged himself with a sharp pinch to each. Mycroft moaned, a deep echoing groan, and Atlas purred.

Mycroft’s cock was fully erect and leaking, and Atlas ached to feel the weight of it on his tongue. But he had other priorities at the moment. He moved to the back of the treadmill and nimbly hopped on. He matched the other man’s pace and movements with ease. Atlas approached his prey and cupped his shoulderblades. He gently stroked the man’s back, finally reaching his peach of an ass. He allowed himself a few moments to simply stroke Mycroft’s skin, reveling in its warmth and softness. He gently slipped a finger between the man’s rosy cheeks, deftly stroking his warm asshole. Mycroft began to shake and leaned forward, placing his hands on the front rails, and offering his tempting ass like the tastiest of dishes.

Atlas chuckled, reached around, and brought the machine to a halt. He knelt behind Mycroft and slid his hands up the man’s calves. When he reached the midpoint, he gently rubbed his thumbs over the soft skin in the curve of his knee. Mycroft groaned again and without looking up, Atlas warned him “Pace yourself, we’ve got more to do.”

His hands traveled upward, parting Mycroft’s sweating, trembling thighs. He gently caressed the skin on the inside of the man’s legs, enjoying the contrast of the soft skin and the muscles underneath. He firmly squeezed the man’s legs, leaning back to enjoy the sight of his fingerprints against his skin. Much too quickly, he reached Mycroft’s firm muscular ass. He leaned forward and gently nipped each cheek. As his teeth lightly grazed the skin, he could feel Mycroft trembling, and he delighted in his power to control and pleasure this powerful man. In these four walls, at this moment, the only real power lay in Atlas’ tongue, teeth, and fingers.

He cupped the man’s ass, squeezing just hard enough to cause the skin to begin to pinken. Unable to stop himself, he softly slapped each cheek, then stroked it. Delighting in the rosy blush he’d caused, he leaned in and slid his tongue along Mycroft’s cleft. He circled his tongue around the rim, moistening and loosening his target. By this point, Mycroft was whimpering, soft broken pleas that spurred the wolf in Atlas on. He eased his powerful tongue inside the tight ring of muscle. 

Mycroft reached for his throbbing cock, and Atlas swiftly slapped his hand away. He pulled his head back.

“Did I say you could?” he snapped.

“N-n-no” Mycroft stuttered.

“Indeed” Atlas snapped. “Touch yourself again without permission, and I’ll strap you to this treadmill and keep you on the brink for as long as I please.”

He returned to his ministrations, loosening and moistening Mycroft’s ass, until he judged he was ready. He slid one finger next to his tongue and gently penetrated the man. Unable to stop himself, he nibbled Mycroft’s soft peachy cheek as he circled his finger inside his ass. Gauging by the man’s guttural groans that he was reaching a fever pitch, Atlas finally reached for Mycroft’s throbbing cock. Mycroft gave a piercing cry and snapped his hips back reflexively, impaling himself further on Atlas’ finger. Atlas pulled his hand back and added another finger, flexing both inside the man as his other hand stroked his shaft. After a few brisk strokes, he gently squeezed the tip, as his fingers probed for his prize. He knew he’d found it when Mycroft gave a brief, piercing cry. Atlas returned to swift firm strokes of his cock as his fingers massaged his prostate. Mycroft was reduced to guttural noises and moans, then a brief scream as he began to shiver, then shake, finally painting his belly and the controls with his cum.

Atlas pressed his face against Mycroft’s quivering ass, gently sliding his hands along his flanks. He leaned back and pulled the taller man down to kneel on the treadmill with him so that he could rest Mycroft’s shoulders against his as he stroked his chest, gently bringing his breathing back to normal.

As Mycroft shivered in his afterglow, Atlas recalled certain rumors among the staff. “Was it my expertise in symbology I was brought here for?” he wondered. His eyes wandered over Mycroft’s body, imagining it strapped to his bed frame, quivering in response to his deft use of electroshock, and he decided he didn’t really care.


End file.
